


Otherworld

by RogueBelle



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Ballads, F/M, Fae & Fairies, Founders fic, Poetry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-06-04
Updated: 2011-06-04
Packaged: 2017-10-20 03:30:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,420
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/208290
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RogueBelle/pseuds/RogueBelle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Rowena disappears into the Otherworld, Godric must pass challenges to redeem her from captivity. An English ballad in eight-and-six, written in emulation of traditional fairy-lore poetry.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Otherworld

They sit together, dark and fair,  
One day upon the moor,  
The lovely lady Ravenclaw,  
And Godric Gryffindor.

Rowena is the lady’s name,  
And Celtic is her stock,  
Midnight’s beauty lives in her hair,  
In ev’ry curling lock.

Her eyes are silver, like the moon,  
Her lashes ebon dark,  
Her skin fair glows, luminous bright,  
A beauty without mark.

Her lips are red as wild rose,  
Her cheeks damasked with pink,  
A beauty true, but prized most,  
The mind with which she thinks.

Her companion, reckless Godric,  
A wizard without fear,  
Has promised Rowen to defend,  
To stay by her e’er near.

Full-broad his shoulders, straight his jaw,  
Right noble is his brow,  
His hair as yellow as the sun,  
Well-combed and braided now.

His eyes shine bright sapphire blue,  
As crystal as the sea,  
With chiseled looks and upright stance,  
True-born lord is he.

He keeps the watch while Rowena  
An apple tree sits ‘neath.  
Then Godric hears, upon the wind,  
A howl upon the heath.

When once he turns, to see the hounds,  
And sees them streaking by,  
Two curs, both white, with ears of red,  
Away from him they hie.

‘Rowena, see—‘ But when he looks,  
His lady sits no more  
Beneath the shade of apple tree,  
Beside the lake’s blue shore.

She finds herself in summer fields,  
Where grass is ever green,  
The air is warm and sweet, the sky  
Bluer than she has seen.

‘Welcome, dear lady,’ says her host,  
A man of shining skin.  
‘Welcome, Rowena, dearest maid  
For noble hearts to win.’

His hair is dark, as lake by night,  
His eyes are of starlight,  
His clothes are fine, he wields a sword,  
Though his build be but slight.

Atop his head, a crown of green,  
Ivy in dark tendrils.  
He holds a sceptre forged of light,  
From which bright flowers trail.

‘What place is this?’ the damsel asks,  
‘And how was I brought here?’  
Aloft her chin, moon-bright her eyes,  
A lady without fear.

‘Do you not know me?’ asks the lord,  
With laughter in his voice.  
‘You knew me once, and laughed, and played,  
And stayed with me by choice.’

‘I know you not,’ Rowena says,  
‘Nor do I know this place.  
Return me now, from whence I came,  
To my dear love’s embrace.’

But he rises and comes to her,  
His fingers in her hair.  
‘I brought you here to be my love  
And stay within my care.

‘To rule the Otherworld with me,  
And never age or fade,  
To be a queen, and reign with grace  
Over the faery glade.’

Rowen protests, but meets his eyes,  
Losing to his power  
All her will; and with this won,  
Takes her to his bower.

He bids his faery maids attend  
To this, his captured dear,  
With silver ribbons plait her hair,  
And sing to her with cheer.

Like painted doll, she placid sits  
Upon an oak-wrought throne,  
Her eyes glazed over, shining glass,  
Her soul not now her own.

But Godric seeks, and Godric yearns,  
And calls out for his dame.  
The prince appears, who has captive  
The Celtic maid he claims.

‘You’ll find her not upon this moor,’  
Declares the faery knight,  
‘For she is mine, to be my queen,  
My joy and my delight.’

‘I’ll fight for her, and win her back,’  
Proud Godric then does rave,  
‘Just tell me how; for Rowena,  
There’s nothing I’ll not brave.’

Strength impresses; the prince replies:  
‘I’ll tell you this, young swain,  
What you may do, and try, to win  
Your lady back again.

‘Three tasks, ye must do, ere I’ll let  
My damsel go, three tries  
To win fair maid.’ ‘I shall,’ says he,  
‘To win, or else to die.’

First he, brave knight, is made to face  
Most bold of faery warriors.  
‘Stand down, grim foe, or face the might  
Of Godric Gryffindor.’

Brave Saxon, fought he long and true,  
Met faery lord in glen.  
With sword so bright, he fought the rogue  
For love of fair Rowen.

At last! He wins, our bold hero,  
Upon that faery field;  
Knocking opponent’s sword from hand,  
He cries for foe to yield.

The faery knight, he disappears,  
Dissolving into mist,  
And Godric turns, to see what next,  
His blade still in his fist.

The air turns cold, the wind now stiff,  
Blasting far the summer.  
Along comes an aged crown, with  
Snow and frost upon her.

Her face is grey and wrinkled through,  
Her cheeks sunk in her head,  
Her teeth near out, her hair pure white,  
Her eyes as black as lead.

Of dry cobwebs is made her gown,  
Her kirtle cracked feathers,  
And jewels of bone adorn her wrists;  
A crown of scales wreathes her.

‘Kneel ye, Godric,’ says this dread queen,  
‘And look upon your fate.  
Answer to me, to win your maid,  
What is’t that strong men hate.

‘What chills their bones, what withers limbs,  
And frightens knights in sleep,  
Terror not to be avoided,  
And in their minds does creep.’

To knee he falls, to give her due,  
Empress of hoary night.  
He thinks, and thinks, his brow does sweat,  
Until he knows what’s right.

‘Tis time, old dame,’ declares our knight,  
‘That brave men most do fear,  
That takes from them both strength and youth,  
Advancing year on year.’

At this, she smiles, dried-up dame,  
And sunlight breaks the night.  
‘Fear not,’ says she, ‘and blessed be,  
For you have guessed aright.’

So winter falls, the snowfall shed,  
And in her place does stand  
A maiden fair, of golden hair,  
And lily-white of hand.

Her skin does glow with beauty’s light,  
Her dress dewy flowers,  
Her eyes the blue of summer sky,  
Gold leaves do now crown her.

‘Brave knight,’ says she, in voice as sweet,  
As the freshest honey,  
‘You grace our realm; rest here, in shade,  
And stay always with me.’

Her lovely arms, her branches white,  
Do wind about our knight.  
‘Come to my bower,’ pleads the dame,  
‘Be never from my sight.’

‘Nae, fair damsel,’ protests our lord,  
‘I can not stay with thee,  
For my own love is far away,  
And she does wait for me.’

‘Your love is mortal,’ says faery,  
‘And she will age and die.  
Stay here with me, and I shall see  
Thy youth should never fly.

‘Thou couldst then hunt, and join our band,  
Ride steeds upon the hill,  
Sleep in my arms, ever in spring,  
The seasons to thy will.’

Bright damsel she, her suit still pleads,  
And drags him to the ground.  
But ‘Nae!’ he cries, ‘I cannot leave,  
And so her heart to wound!

‘Tis true, my lady will someday  
Leave grace and youth behind.  
But so shall I, and with her die;  
Our hearts are ever twined.’

‘Well done,’ says sharp another voice,  
And damsel takes her leave.  
‘Resisting her, you prove your love,  
And now have passed tests three.

‘But yet there is one last request,  
Of which I did not say,  
Try, if you can, my brave young man,  
To win her heart away.’

For there she sits, his lady fair,  
Unmoving and silent.  
He calls to her, ‘My Rowena!  
Whose features Beauty blent,

Come with your lord, and leave this place,  
Of intrigue and deceit.  
Come with the knight who fought for you,  
Who challenges did best.’

But she, fair star, makes no reply,  
And sat with empty gaze  
Upon the man with whom she loved,  
And journeyed many days.

‘You see, bold knight,’ says faery prince,  
‘Your love prefers it here,  
To be enthroned, and never fade,  
Nor ever age a year.’

‘It is not so!’ cries Godric, who  
Valiant fought for her sake.  
‘Rowena, fairest maiden witch,  
My star, my love, awake!’

And saying so, he runs to her,  
Rough hands on white shoulders,  
His fingers knit in that dark hair,  
His lips descend to hers.

A kiss of unbridled passion,  
Embrace both pure and true,  
The veil falls back from clouded eyes:  
‘Godric, I go with you.

‘My love, my only, my dear one,  
Loyal knight of my heart,  
Take me from this most strange place,  
And let us never part.’

And so did Gryffindor win back  
His lady love, his queen,  
From the faery prince, the ether knight,  
Lord of place in-between.

But left he there, upon her brow,  
A mark of pale silver,  
A mote, quite small, a dot, no more,  
But ever more with her.

They sit together, dark and fair,  
One day upon the moor,  
The lovely lady Ravenclaw,  
And Godric Gryffindor.

**Author's Note:**

> If you enjoyed this work, please check out [my blog](http://cassmorriswrites.com)! I also write original fiction, and my debut novel will be out January 2018.


End file.
